Paradise Found
by Charlie Quill
Summary: Harry returns home an unhappy camper and, as per usual when dealing with Potter's life, things soon spiral out of control. Will the bespectacled BoyWhoLived be able to realise he isn't alone? Now defiantly AU. 6th year fic.
1. Return to Captivity

_Paradise__ Found_

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_Chapter One_

_Return to Captivity_

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It had been almost a whole two weeks since term ended and Harry hadn't really begun his summer term homework. He'd stared at the Transfiguration text until his vision had blurred and a headache had pinpointed his left temple. He'd also managed to start a few half hearted lines in Charms, but had soon lost interest in that as well. With a frustrated sigh, he threw down his quill a third, maybe eleventh time.

Nothing seemed to hold his interest any more! Raking a hand through his messy black hair, he rubbed his face and tried to find some semblance of interest. Nothing. Glancing over the paragraph he had just written, he snorted.

_Yes, the greasy, black hearted git will most certainly like this latest piece of work from the quill of Potter, _his mind snarled.

Pushing the essay away, he stood up and stretched. What he really need was a good go on his broom, a short, burst of speed, the adrenaline pumping through him. The blood rushing through his veins as he reached new heights and speeds. Not this, slow steady pumping. Not homework, not three letters a week, not reading, not staring at the walls, not the Dursleys, Dumbledore, and certainly not Voldemort!

Opening his window he took a deep breath of the warm, heady summer air. Hedwig was still out and about, doing owlish things and he was starting to get stir crazy. He could almost feel the energy inside of him, waiting to be unleashed.

Struck by an idea, he recapped his bottle of ink and put all of his homework and writing supplies away. Putting on one of his cousin's dirty old rags he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror and scowled. Yes, he was all set.

Downstairs, he told his aunt he was going out for a walk and after her curt nod and cold look, he had his too-large trainers on, and was soon out the door. Shutting the door behind him, Harry considered the idea of making a run for it. A second later, he tossed the idea away and started a slow, steady amble away from Number Four, Privet Drive. It probably wouldn't be the wisest course of action to attract the attention of whomever was watching over him; Harry was certain he was being watched again.

Harry paused at the end of the driveway to tug his pants higher around his waist, only to growl with frustration when they slipped low around his hips. Passing number six, eight, ten, and twelve the Boy-Who-Lived continued to amble down Privet Drive, when the sound of a bike bell and the whir of spinning wheels came up behind him. Turning around, he saw a small boy with brown hair and squinty eyes pedaling full force at him. As the small boy sped past him, Harry caught sight of three individuals not far down the lane, each on their own bikes and smirking at each other.

"Hey, Big Dud! Is that your cousin?" Piers had an ugly smile on his face that repulsed Harry, but the look of dawning horror on Dudley's was enough to make up for it.

"Afternoon, Dudley!" Harry called cheerfully, fully enjoying the way his fat lard of a cousin paled and his pedaling rate decreased considerably.

"Come on, guys, let's go back around the other way. That Evans snot won't come back by this way again today. Let's go." By the end, Dudley was almost crying with desperation. His forehead was shining with sweat, and his thick blonde hair was matted to his skull.

"Ah come on, Big Dud, remember the old days?" Piers adopted what might be considered a 'reflecting' persona, his face slightly dreamy, eyes far away with sadistic glee. "How's about a round of _Harry Hunting_? You, know." Piers glanced back at Harry, who had not yet moved from his place in the middle of the sidewalk. "For good ol' times' sake."

"Nah, come on, guys, Mark'll be half way to Bristol by now, we'll miss him if we don't hurry!" Dudley was oozing desperation now, his piggy little eyes darting from Harry to Piers so fast Harry was sure he would further exert himself in the process.

But when Piers ignored Dudley's pleas, Harry's mirth soon died away. Glancing around uneasily, he watched Pier's malicious approach on his new bike. When he was four meters away, Harry groaned to himself. The Order would have to put Mundungus Fletcher on duty today, wouldn't they? Coming to terms that no one was about to pop out of thin air and rescue him, Harry sighed, pulled up his sagging pants and began sprinting.

He wasn't sure how long he had been running, but after diving into the yards of several people and changing directions several times, he came to a halting stop and rested with his hand on his knees. Taking a few deep breaths, giving his heart a chance to catch up to his body (he was sure he left it seven blocks back on Mimosa Ave.), Harry took a few moments to figure out what road he was on before looking toward a direction he recognized.

Heading up Primrose lane, he walked passed the park and to the more residential part of town, right up to the old zoo where he had first gone when he was eleven years old. It was still open, though notably more run down; the animals having lost their intrigue, and the paint having already begun to fade and rust. After a Basilisk it was hard to feel the same amazement for a seven year old tiger named 'Barney'.

Still, Harry managed to smuggle himself in, completely forgetting to think of how his guard was supposed to sneak in; Harry was sure they'd find a way. They were wizards after all. Walking from animal to animal, Harry felt sorry for each beast he passed. They were made to be wild, free creatures, yet here they were, each in their own gilded cage. Sure their necessities were looked after, but could painted walls and timed feedings really replace the habitat they were designed for? Harry grimaced. Was it what _he_ was designed for?

Taking a stroll into the Reptile Room, he almost immediately went to the large glass encasement where he had first spoken to a snake and subsequently set it free. But there were no new reptiles here. Instead, the second half the building which had obviously been added onto was converted to a rehabilitation center for animals that were originally bred in captivity and had been let go, but later on were taken from the wild. Harry snorted at the information board. Good luck with that bright idea, he thought snidely. Those animals were going to either die or go insane with the reinstated walls.

"Let's get you back home, Potter. Now!" a low, furious voice hissed in his ear, the dull familiar clunking sending Harry rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"How'd you find me?" asked Harry, turning around to lean against the thick, heavy glass and watch his rescuer behind narrowed eyes.

"Follow me, you're not safe out in the open like this." Mad Eye's revolving ice-blue eye seemed to be doing double duty as it spun in every direction rapidly.

"Any one else come with you?" asked Harry as he followed Moody through the zoo and small child's theme park. At the entrance he noted several people right away that cocked their heads around to watch him, a few following. Mad Eye had deposited a small bowler hat on his revolving eye but the sound of squelching flesh could still be heard. Trying not to be nauseated, Harry walked resolutely on, the thudding of Mad Eye's leg setting a rhythm for him to keep pace with.

Soon enough, the pair made it back to Privet Drive and Harry felt a wave of humiliation as he was escorted to the door, left to stand by patiently aside as Moody banged on the door with his pegged leg. The door opened, revealing a flustered Petunia, her thin lips practically vanishing when she recognized who had been the source of noise. Her hazel eyes narrowed with fury, her white fists clenching unsteadily at her sides.

"Yes?" she hissed in what she must've thought was a menacing tone. Harry thought she sounded mad, but couldn't hold a candle to Snape.

"I'm here to return Mr. Potter, Dursley," Moody's gravel like voice seemed to growl and Petunia whitened when he lifted his bowler just ever so slightly. "Take care not to lose him again." With that, the electric blue eye was again covered and the intimidating auror stepped away from the houses, ambling down the sidewalk stiffly. With the sound of Mad-Eye's wooden leg scraping eerily down the empty street, Petunia opened the door wider, walking away equally stiff, allowing Harry to enter and shut the door behind him. When he arrived in the kitchen he noted Dudley and Vernon were still not home; Vernon probably working late, and Dudley probably _working_ late as well. If one correlated bullying with working, that is.

Petunia was just setting a stack of three plates and one smaller dish on the table when her squinty eyes glared up at his entrance. Glancing over him critically, her mouth puckered like she had tasted something sour. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get over there." Instantly she was a fire breathing Lady of the House, demanding and ordering like when he was younger. Twenty minutes later, as Harry finished glazing the ham, he heard Vernon's car pull up and quickly finished the last touches on setting the table.

Dinner was an unusual affair. Vernon had apparently received a promotion to working directly under the head bloke. Harry wasn't really paying attention. Dudley still hadn't returned and despite reason that fought valiantly for control Harry felt uneasy. No matter what Harry might've thought of him, Dudley had always managed to be home in time for supper and the idea that Dudley of all people was missing a meal was more than unsettling. Finishing his meal, he excused himself and went for a walk.

The streets of Surrey at night were nothing special to behold. Rubbish had gathered on the streets, the park was rustic and creaking. Shadows fell everywhere as a consequence of large trees and houses. Shivering, the bespectacled boy made his way to Dudley's usual haunts, his frown deepening when each one came up empty. On a whim he walked past Piers' home but the view of the dining room from a large window offered no massive Dudley.

Becoming even more disturbed, Harry began to scour the park and surrounding back yards. An hour later, Harry was forced to admit defeat. Making his way down the walk, he turned at the screeching of wheels and could only watch dumbly as Dudley came careening down the walk in a shiny red car. Blinking rapidly at the bright lights, he waited by the door, trying not to smile at how ridiculous Dudley appeared in such a small car.

Parked, Dudley abandoned his new mode of transportation and walked toward Harry with a smirk. "Evening, Potty. Like the car? Too bad you'll never have anything as nice." The insulting tone had lost its malice since summer before fifth year but to humor him Harry looked at his feet.

When they both were inside, Dudley went straight to the kitchen and Harry went up stairs- the sound of Petunia's fawning already grating on his ears and nerves. Closing the door behind him, he spotted a crisp white sheet of paper on the desk and sighed. Dipping a rather poor looking quill in ink, he scratched out his note:

_Remus,_

_ I'm doing fine. Summer's been better than last year. My relatives are doing well. Homework has been slow; when are we getting OWL results? Hope everything is alright,_

_ Give my regards,_

_ H.J.P_

Blowing on the ink gently, he summoned Hedwig from her perch and gave her the letter. "Be careful girl, you know where to take it." Throwing open his window, he watched her soar away enviously, rubbing his forehead at the slight headache he'd acquired searching for _Darling Duddikins_.

Flicking the light off, he fell onto his bed, the cot protesting loudly as he watched an insect circle lazy around the room before finally settling on the ceiling. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his face viscously and wished in vain he was a normal boy more or less like Dudley.

Two weeks later Dudley was dead.

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_Next: Chapter 2 -Poison of the Soul_

_"Get in." Snape's voice was as black and cold as his disposition. Complying, Harry stepped aside for his most hated teacher and bolted the door behind him. Snape's black eyes swept over the interior of the Dursley's home and for a moment looked as if he might be sick._

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A/N: Special Thanks to by new Beta Lilpadfoot17!


	2. Poison of the Soul

_Paradise__ Found_

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_Chapter Two_

_Poison of the Soul_

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The accident happened a quarter of a block away. Dudley had run a stop sign and collided with another car, and both drivers had perished instantly. Petunia had been in hysterics for almost a week before falling ominously silent. Vernon had been hospitalized for shock. He never said a word, only turned a horribly death-like shade of white, a sheen of sweat coating his body as he went into slight convulsions.

Harry had been in his room when he'd first heard the phone ring. Thinking nothing of it, he had continued his homework hoping it wasn't Ron or Hermione calling to console him or offer their support for something like the hundredth time. For half a second after the receiver had crashed to the ground, he thought someone really had called him, but then he had gone downstairs to find Petunia in a right state; whimpering, her head shaking from side to side, someone on the other end shouting "MRS. DURSLEY? ARE YOU THERE? ARE YOU ALRIGHT? WE'RE SENDING A CAB RIGHT OVER!" Picking up the abandoned piece of plastic, Harry heard the line go dead and replaced it carefully.

"Aunt Petunia? What's going on?" Cautiously moving toward her, he grabbed her cold hands and led her to the couch, sitting her down carefully. "Aunt Petunia," he heard himself saying ,"I need to you to take deep breaths. Come on now. In and out, there we go. What. Is. Going. On?" Petunia's stark white face seemed to crumble within itself as the full brunt of whatever was troubling her suddenly hit her. She opened her mouth and Harry, who thought she would finally answer him, was shocked into stillness as she let out one high pitched, wailing scream. This continued for several minutes, tears leaking out of her eyes, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as she gasped for more air only to let it out in long, unbroken screams.

Suddenly, Harry felt the black fingers of morbid dread clutch at him mercilessly as he held his aunt tightly, if only to keep her from thrashing violently. Comfort was beyond this woman now. Exhausted by her grief, Petunia gave one final shudder before wilting in his thin, pale arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, and though the rest of her person had seemingly given up with the strain, her mouth kept on. "…Dudley…Dudley…not my poor baby Dudley…My Dudley…No…no…no…"

Harry felt himself go terribly still at her mantra, his mouth dried and he felt his chest begin to tighten. _How?_ Was the burning question in his mind. How had Dudley died, was it Death Eaters? HOW! Sick with an even more terrible dread, Harry's grip on his aunt slackened and he felt her fall heavily on his lap. Pushing her upright, he heard the doorbell ring before several loud bangs threatened to knock the door off its hinges. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he drew his wand before shouts had him running to the door, pulling it open.

"What's happened?" he demanded of the uniformed men standing there. "My aunt just got off the phone and just started screaming before collapsing. What's happened to my cousin? TELL ME!" The man closest to the door briefly explained that his cousin had been found not too far from the house in a mangled car, collided with another vehicle. Apparently he had run a stop sign. The men entered the house at Harry's beckoning and found Petunia still sprawled gracelessly on the couch. Her eyes were still open and horribly rimmed with red. Large drops of water ran down the sides of her face and great gasps of air were being forced in and out of her chest with only primal instinct driving them.

Harry watched numbly as his aunt was escorted to the waiting ambulance and told to sit quietly while several staff checked her over. The two suited men departed and Harry suddenly felt very lightheaded. Closing the door he retreated upstairs, composed a brief letter to the order and collapsed into bed. Sleep, however, evaded him.

Lying awake, he watched as the sun moved from one corner of his room to the next, until his plaster walls began to show a darker shade of red. A million and more thoughts raced through his head. Dudley, the Order, Hermione, Ron, Petunia's stark white face, the two men in suits, his abandoned Transfiguration essay, the Weasley clan, Dumbledore, Voldemort. Harry could feel his blood run cold as the full implications set in. If Uncle Vernon thought Harry's freakishness had anything to do with his son's death there would be no hope for Harry. The very least that would happen to him at his Uncle's hand would be that he would be kicked out and left to fend for himself. He would be such easy prey for Lord Voldemort. Harry suddenly felt sick. What if the accident hadn't been an accident at all?

Alive with adrenaline, Harry abandoned his bed and paced restlessly. The letter he had written the Order hours before had explained the accident and though Hedwig had returned, she hadn't brought a reply with her. Sitting at his rickety desk, he turned a quill around in his hand, his thoughts ricocheting off the walls of his mind.

Downstairs the clock read just after nine. Vernon must be with Petunia at the hospital, she hadn't looked too well. And there were probably…other matters to be attended to as well. Rummaging through the ice box and then the cupboards revealed a can of soup and some rather knocked around apples. Leaving the apples where they were, Harry picked out the can of tomato soup and hunted out the can opener.

Pouring the red liquid into a clean pot, Harry heard someone ring the door bell and then resort to impatiently knocking at the door. Puzzled, he crept into the living room to peer out the window and immediately felt his blood grow cold. _Snape_.

Backing away from the window, Harry fingered his wand uneasily. Though he wore no pristine white mask, the ex Death Eater was still swathed in black material. Harry checked himself. Of course he was wearing black material. He was Snape. Not entirely mollified, Harry opened the door, suspecting that if Snape was here on Death Eater business he wouldn't have bothered with a Muggle door bell anyway.

"Snape?"

"Get in." Snape's voice was as black and cold as his disposition. Complying, Harry stepped aside for his most hated teacher and bolted the door behind him. Snape's black eyes swept over the interior of the Dursley's home and for a moment looked as if he might be sick. Harry heartily agreed. "Do you find your cousin's death humorous, Potter?" Snape couldn't have sounded more victoriously disgusted.

Nevertheless, Harry sobered and instead of answering the prompt questioned, "What are you doing here?"

Snape's look of contempt darkened fractionally and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Gryffindor, no subtly at all,' but what he said aloud was, "Headmaster Dumbledore is unconvinced that your cousin's fatality was entirely an accident."

Finally wrapping his mind around what the wizard had said, Harry could only respond, "Oh. Soup?" gesturing towards the pot still sitting on the stove. Snape sneered severely. Opening his mouth, he was interrupted by the loud roaring of Floo coming from the living room. Snape was on his feet and out the kitchen in an instant. Curious, Harry was about to follow, when Snape had returned, Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt in tow.

The tall Auror greeted Harry warmly, his rumbling voice making him feel infinitely more at peace, but instead of greeting him, Remus spoke to Snape in a corner in low tones before leaving through the door he had entered.

"Where's Remus going?" He might as well have asked the soup can and expected more of a response that he got. Shacklebolt found the shiny toaster worthy of his utmost attention and Snape merely snapped his robe and stalked out of the kitchen irritably. Harry decided to return to his soup and wait for his answers to come seek him out.

The soup began to boil steadily and satisfied, Harry took it off the stove and turned the knob to 'off'. Snape had entered and sat at the kitchen table farthest from the two as possibly, silently brooding. Shacklebolt had moved steadily from one kitchen appliance to the next so calmly and slowly as if he was at some great art museum that Harry had to bite down hard to keep from grinding his teeth. When finished with his inspection the Auror sat at the table in a neutral position as if he couldn't decide whether or not to chance sitting next to the snarky man or not.

Harry could feel eyes on his back and without looking he could tell they belonged to Snape. What they were looking for was anyone's guess, so Harry evaded the gaze by opening another cupboard for a couple bowls. His quest rewarded, he pulled them out and again asked if anyone wanted soup. Kingsley nodded once and accepted his bowl and spoon with a thank you. Snape however scowled at him as if he had killed his great aunt. Shrugging indifferently, Harry tried not to think too much on how Remus had just left without so much as a hello or goodbye. He hadn't even looked at him. Depressed, Harry put the two unused bowls away and stored the soup in the ice box. Snape was watching him again. Ignoring him, Harry left the kitchen and went up to his room. No one had stopped him yet, so Harry figured it was alright not to be stalked from room to room. Going to his desk, he sat down and tried to finish his Transfiguration essay. He dipped his quill in the ink and the nib hovered over the parchment for a moment. Harry watched, transfixed as a drop of black liquid fell from the tip of his nib and was quickly absorbed into his essay. One thought was all that was left in his head.

_Dudley is dead…_

Perhaps an hour later, he was interrupted from staring at the wall by a dark presence in his room. Snape's black gaze rested on the essay for a few moments before glaring at him.

"I'm surprised, Potter, family mean so little to you? You're cousin isn't dead one day and already you are fretting over _homework_. And after your precious _loss_ from last term I thought you might've learned the value of life, let alone family. But then, precious Harry Potter has the world, doesn't he? Family isn't much compared to that, is it?" Snape's cruel words awaked a surge of fire, and lunging from his chair, Harry stared at Snape with righteous anger.

"Don't talk about Sirius!" he yelled furiously.

"I'll talk how I like, Potter," he snapped contemptuously. "I told you to address me as sir or professor at all times!"

"BULLOCKS!" Harry screamed, his voice raw with emotions he had locked up. "Get out of my house! Get out! GET OUT!" His body was trembling violently and through the haze of red anger he felt a spell hit him in the chest, knocking him motionless. Though his eyes remained locked on the ceiling, he could feel claw-like hands grabbing his face and forcing his mouth open. A thick, heavy liquid swept down his throat before he heard the spell releasing him and feeling thoroughly violated, Harry jerked from the grasp he found himself in and fell to the floor. The calming draught worked quickly and soon Harry felt a dull throb that used to stand for hate. Wearily, he lifted his head to watch black material sweep out the door. Blinking several times, he forced his muscles to work, pushing himself from the floor onto trembling limbs.

He felt terribly drained, but the anger at Snape was still too strong. So, pushing himself upright, Harry stumbled to the open door. The staircase had never felt so difficult to descend before but somehow he managed. Drawing his wand he searched for a curse he could use but so muddled was his brain the only thing he could think of was…

_"SILENCIO!" _

The effect was instantaneous. Snape, caught completely unawares was caught in the chest with the spell, robbing him of his voice. The rest of the room, which had filled with several more witches and wizards, stilled and everyone watched as Snape turned with a blood-thirsty look and attempted to round off a hex at Harry which turned out to be harmless as his voice could lend no power. Blinding rage filled Snape's eyes as he yelled soundlessly for the spell to be removed. Harry, exhausted by the emotions, the potion, and the spell, collapsed where he stood, momentarily remembering that he had used magic outside of school grounds. Could his day get any better? Apparently it could.

It must have been midnight when he awoke in someone's arms, his feet dangling as wind pinched his cheeks and nose. Wait, wind? His eyes shot open and became aware of a wide expanse of night sky surrounding him from all directions. Blinking back his sleep, he craned his neck to look around him and found himself on a soaring broom, hugged tightly to the chest of a wizard he had never seen before. He had brown hair that was tied back and the arm that snaked around his waist provided enough that Harry's imagination needed no prodding to think of this wizard as well built. Suddenly, the arm slightly slackened and a low, almost honey-like voice spoke next to his ear.

"You're awake." The statement chased away any lasting tendrils of sleep and Harry straightened marginally.

"Who are you?"

"Shh, it's dangerous to speak in such open air. The Order is here, Mr. Potter. That is all I can tell you for now."

The ride was quiet from then on, though from time to time Harry would catch sight of Kingsley or even Mad Eye in the clouds around them. The cloak he was wrapped in was wool, and a dark cherry wood brown. Burrowing within it deeper, he felt his lids grow heavy and idly wondered what had become of Snape.

Without warning the broom gave a violent jerk and Harry's eyes snapped open to find the broom speeding at break neck speed, flanked by two figures in black, white masks gleaming. The hand around his waist tightened and Harry felt the broom switch directions and swerve several times, the hot sizzle of deadly hexes warming his face as they sped past. Several times he could feel the body behind him stiffen marginally before flying on with newly inspired drive. He retrieved his wand, but before he could cast a spell the hand holding him brought his hand down within the folds of the cloak surrounding him.

"Mr. Potter, your magic, while helpful, would only bring more down upon us. Your magic would act as a flare; they attack us because they believe we are Order Members. Don't change their minds and bring them all down upon us!" The voice abruptly stopped and Harry felt the broom tip forward and begin to free fall. The arm around his waist slackened and Harry grabbed the broom desperately for balance. "Fly, Mr. Potter, don't look back! FLY!" With that the presence behind him was gone. And with him, Harry's courage. Feeling something ugly stomping around inside his stomach, Harry slid down the broom to get a better balance and urged the broom alive. Up, up, up, he went. Around him he could hear curses and shields being fired. Sweat beaded his brow and in the corner of his eye he could see a black cloaked figure give chase. Racing his broom at an unreachable speed he could feel the sizzling heat underneath him suddenly splinter his broom. With nothing under him, Harry felt himself free fall. He collided with a curse as he fell and then an immobilizing spell. Bruising fingers caught him and held him close as they raced away.

Harry's day could indeed get much worse. Closing his eyes as the spell took complete control of him, he didn't notice the smile above him belonged to none other than Death Eater Avery.

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_Next: Chapter 3 –At the Gates of Gehenna _

_Kicking out his leg he smiled with dark delight at the satisfying crunch he heard and the subsequent shriek of surprise and pain. Without looking he rolled onto his back and struck both legs out toward a pale, orb which a moment later proved to be her head as a grunt signaled a direct hit._

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A/N: Special thanks to my wonderful beta, Lil Padfoot!

Saphire Phoenix, thank you for your review and hope you're still interested. Weirdcraz24, thanks for taking the time to review!

Thank you all who read it and/or put it on your alert list!


	3. At the Gates of Gehenna

A/N: I've been terribly lax in my disclaimers: _looks thoroughly ashamed:_ So, without further ado!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bro. and probably more people I am un aware of. Sob. Crime that it is. I am not making any prophet from this; it is purely for my own amusement.

_Paradise__ Found_

_Chapter Three_

_At the Gates of Gehenna_

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!" -the Tempest act I scene 2

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Surry was about an hour, perhaps an hour and half away from London by the fastest broomstick. London was an entire day by train away from Scotland and Hogwarts. So by this logic, if one rode on a broom sporadically from halfway to London for about a day and half before stopping for five hours, where would that take you? Harry, while lying on the cold ground, tied by a spell, contemplated this doggedly. They had stopped and he had been revived to watch as six Death Eaters met momentarily before setting up a camp of sorts at a shack. For the most part he had been left completely alone. Well, if two casual curses was considered being left alone. Bearing in mind they were Death Eaters, Harry deemed them very hospitable indeed. 

"_Tormenta_!" Behind a veil of pain Harry tallied it up to three casual curses. The curse was lifted soon after and he was left to himself for a while longer before being strapped to a broom again. They rode for a while more before touching down in a lightly wooded area. He was blindfolded and led by leash for several more hours before, when he felt sure his legs were going to fall off, they came to a halt.

"Well, well, well, whot's this then? A bit o' fresh flesh?" Harry felt a grimy hand grab his chin and turn it this way and that. He jerked away from the grasp, disgusted, laughter breaking out around him. "A bit o' spirit, eh? That would come at a good price 't would. Whot you say, mates? A trade, aye?"

"Not this time, Marely, this one's got a price you can't reach," a raspy voice laughed out.

"Whot's this now? 'Oo's yer buyer?" The man lingered for a moment before moving away to talk to one of his hooded captors.

Harry felt himself gag; who were these people? The death Eaters and the one man kept talking for quite some times about other orders, shipments, and special deals until finally the Death Eater holding his leash gave a vicious jerk and Harry, thoroughly disgusted with the entire situation, obediently followed. After several hours of mindless, endless, and pointless walking, Harry was grabbed roughly by the arm split seconds before both captor and captee Apparated.

Wherever they arrived had scum-covered stone floors and very damp air. Dragged to his feet, where he immediately felt nauseous, Harry was again led by the makeshift leash. Finally the group came to a stop and Harry's blindfold was removed just as he was pushed into a dark room; the door shutting behind him with a mighty clang.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry pushed himself to a sitting position and struggled against his restraints before finding a wall to lean against. His eyes glared around the room, but for all his effort he could only sense dull, gray shades. His glasses had been taken away when replaced by the blindfold, so what he might have been able to see was severely blurred and fuzzy. What he could tell from touch and smell though was that he was in some sort of castle not unlike Hogwarts. Or rather, Hogwarts' dungeons.

Pain from earlier abuse accosted his person and matched with the frigid temperature of the stone room, and Harry closed his eyes, wishing to fall into a blissful oblivion. The Death Eater's Anonymous group apparently had other ideas. No sooner had he shut his eyes than they were blinded by a bright white light. The light eventually dimmed enough for Harry to distinguish it as a torch, or several really, and three rather haughty looking figures in black.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here? Baby Harry Potter!" Harry's eyes screwed themselves shut as the toying voice of Bellatrix Lestrange met his ears. His insides twisted violently and he could hear his harsh breathing echo off the stone walls. "Oh! Is wittle, ickle, baby Potty not feeling well? Poor poor baby!" Maniacal laughter filled the room and Harry's fury knew no bounds.

Before he could say anything, however, a spell was cast at him; each bone snapping before magically rejoining together within seconds. A scream ripped through his throat and he curled himself together.

"Aww! Does ickle Pottikins think he can hide? Does he not like to play? Come out! Come out! Come out to play wiff me, ickle Potty!"

Bellatrix had crept closer to Harry as she spoke and blinking his eyes open, he could make out a fuzzy black form with white face peering over him. But it wasn't the insane Death Eater Harry saw; Harry saw Sirius falling with a looking of dawning comprehension backwards ever so slowly. Kicking out his leg, he smiled with dark delight at the satisfying _crunch_ he heard and the subsequent shriek of surprise and pain. Without looking, he rolled onto his back and struck both legs out toward a pale, orb which a moment later proved to be her head as a grunt signaled a direct hit.

His victory didn't last long as by the time he had reached out a hand to grasp a delicate, wooden stick he was sent crashing into the stone brick wall, head first. Through a haze of near unconsciousness Harry could feel a presence closing in on him and seized up as another spell with a familiar red streak met his chest.

Screaming beneath the throes of the forbidden curse, Harry felt his skin and bones catch fire, the nerves severed by thousands of invisible knives. The curse ended and he gasped for air, rewarded by the strong, musty smell of a dungeon. Sweat coated his body like a second skin and his eyes quaked, somewhere rolled to the top of his skull. His body shook at intervals and his tongue was coated by something warm and sticky, which he soon recognized to be blood. Breathing heavily he didn't even notice as someone bent down to cut him loose of his bonds and the heavy door to his chamber shut heavily, the bold sliding into place with a high pitched metallic _shank_.

Left to himself with no way to differentiate one hour from the next, Harry half crawled, half dragged himself to the farthest corner of the room and curled up within himself. He had no dreams, but a persistent throbbing from his scar kept him from falling into any true sleep. He woke from his daze sporadically; each time to the sound of cloth swishing from somewhere near by; the scampering of tiny rodent feet; or muttering voices that laughed darkly, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

Holding his knees to his chest and resting his head against the stone wall, Harry felt a stab of fear go through him. It couldn't be time for him to meet Voldemort, not yet, not so soon! He couldn't possibly beat him; he was only sixteen years old! He'd seen what the rotting corpse could do and somehow Harry doubted that the Dark Lord would perish under his _rictusempra_ or cheering charm.

Finally the dark ache spiked, and Harry jerked awake at the nearness of his mortal enemy. A black robe and white mask opened his prison door and another spelled him motionless and air-borne to follow as they led the way. His keepers' footsteps tapped against the floor at uneven intervals until Harry could no longer keep track of the direction they were going, let alone how to get where.

The trio came to a wide open room with walls of shiny, black stone and a large group of black robed figures. Harry searched the bone-white masks of any hope, but eventually turned back to his own honor guard's path. They continued through a wide, black archway until they met a door. The Death Eater on his right knocked twice, before stepping back and waiting for the door to swing open. If possible, the chamber they entered was darker and danker than his cell. He didn't have much time to contemplate the information, for as soon as he crossed the threshold, he felt pain unimaginable. It started with his scar, exploding and sending white spots across his vision before shuddering through to his chest, limbs, and abdomen. Every inch of him was on fire, the bones melting within his flesh and his eyes burning like acid. And suddenly it was over. Whimpering slightly, Harry could feel the betraying wetness of tears on his face and tried to wipe them away. But raising his arm sent a new wave of furious pain through his arm, back, chest, and abdomen. Resigned, he let the appendage fall back onto the cool, smooth stone.

An amused voice called to him from the front of the room. Lifting his head he could make out the fuzzy, red eyed form of Voldemort.

_Marvelous._

* * *

_Next: Chapter 4 –The Double Betrayer _

_Harry was roused from his thoughts by his door being slammed open and a robed figure stepping in. "Good evening, Potter," said a voice pleasantly," Lovely evening for a drink- wouldn't you agree?" _

_"You!" spat Harry, shocked to his core. _

_He didn't need his glasses to picture lips behind the white mask curving into a smile, "Yes, Potter, _me_."_

* * *

Reviewers: Hello, my lovelies, thank you so much for reviewing! And those of you who put me on your author alert and favorites are appreciated very much from this quarter! Keep your reviews and support coming! 

_Thanks to Lil Padfoot for being such a great beta!_


	4. The Double Betrayer

_Paradise__ Found_

_Chapter Four_

_The Double Betrayer_

"Welcome to my home, Harry. Did you find your accommodationsss ssatisfactory? I hope so. Now, let us sssee about answering sssome questionss, shall we?" The rasping voice came from across the room but Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the echo of hissing ricocheting off the walls.

"Sod off, Tom." Harry was slightly startled at the rawness of his throat and vowed to speak as little as possible. Voldemort's features twisted from what Harry's limited vision could tell. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tom. Should I address you properly as 'Mr. Riddle'? Is that better? Or is 'Tom' going to be fine?" Harry couldn't figure out why he was signing his own death sentence but wasn't given long to contemplate as he was again struck by a yellow curse and everything went black.

At first he thought he was dead but then wondered if he was just dreaming. Sounds came to him from various points of the room and it was a few moments before he realized he had been blinded. Lifting protesting arms he sought out his eyes on his face and rubbed them hesitantly. Panic bloomed in his chest and he felt his mouth go dry. Rubbing them harder only produced spots of odd colors that soon faded into the void of black shadow. Shattering laughter came from the head of the room, bouncing of the walls to be magnified and joined in by other more earthly like voices. They jeered, and called to him with baby voices; cruel laughter cutting into his very soul. He was blind. It wouldn't be forever though, Harry consoled himself. After a few moment's of panic he recognized the jinx as a harmless way to temporarily blind the enemy, giving ample time to get ones bearings, or his case, cause humiliation and fear.

Giving up on his eyes the teen stood shakily and gave what he hoped was the Dark Lord a glare. The voices around him died down and were replaced with a thick silence. If he could get a wand then perhaps he could curse Voldemort and the prophecy would be over with? Harry through the idea out, he wasn't going to be able to get anywhere near a wand in his present state. A rustle of robes caught his attention and he realized belatedly that someone had been called forward. Measured footsteps passed within two arm spans of him and Harry followed the steps carefully, trying to get his bearings on the room.

Another rustle of cloth and the figure must have been kneeling because Voldemort gave the command to rise. "Harry, do you know who this is? Remove your mask." Voldemort commanded of the figure. Another moment and the mask was stored within the folds of cloth. Harry vainly tried to focus his eyes but it was fruitless. "Well, Harry? Do you know yet?"

Harry could feel anger coursing through his veins. "No," he rasped, "You know I-" His response was cut with a curse. It lasted several moments before being lifted.

"Now, Harry, it was a yesss or no question. None of your ssssimpering rambles will be tolerated here. Now, ansswer me properly. Do you know who thisss isss?"

"No, and I don't care who the bloody wanker IS!" Harry's voice rose into a yell as he was cursed again.

"Tut tut. Now, Harry, such insssolence doesss not become you. Isss that any way to talk about a professor?"

Harry could feel his insides grow cold as the implication set it.

"Now, why don't you address your professor in the proper way?"

Harry couldn't speak. He was afraid to. The rational part of his mind registered that Snape was a spy and a member of the Order but the less rational part of his brain; the part that had been subject to several cruciatus curses already demanded he grow cold with fear and betrayal.

"Well, Potter? Haven't you anything to say to me?" An oily voice, rich with contempt spoke close to his ear. "Of anyone at your precious school I would have thought you might have more fight in you. Ah, but I see that prong longed exposure to the Weasley's has indeed affected your already poor mind. Or is it all genetic? The vacant stare, dull mind, and injudicious tendencies… Yes, yes. Now that I truly think on it, I can remember the same traits running rampant within the Potter line. Evans also seemed particularly slow, otherwise she would have never married that excuse for a wizard Potter. But, as I hear the muggles are fond of saying on the occasion. Birds of a feather fly together. I suppose your father couldn't help but lie with scum."

Harry lashed out with his arm and struck his professor against the jaw with the back of his hand.

Harry didn't need his vision to see the victorious smirk on the older man's face. "Now, Potter, I didn't know you had fallen to the level of muggle brawling? How primitive." The mockery in the voice was tangible and Harry almost lunged for his professor again when a voice came from the front of the room again.

"That's enough, Severus; you've had your fun. Now, for the reason of your presence. I require a beverage for our dear messier Potter. He seems unnaturally dehydrated, does he not? Bring me the Draught of Prometheus; perhaps it will quench our guest's thirst?"

"My master, it will require a day's brewing, I shall have it within your hand tomorrow evening." The oily voice of the potion's master had drifted away from him and Harry felt his strength begin to dissolve. _He's a traitor…a traitor…Dumbledore was wrong! He's turned again…_

"Very well. You may leave to start brewing it immediately. Dismissed."

A swish of fabric and Harry heard the dark servant leave through the door from which Harry had entered. A moment later Harry himself was spelled into the air and escorted from the room, head lolling death like with no support. Before he left however another figure brushed by into what Harry could only guess was the throne room. Harry caught fragments of the report before the slid shut.

So another plan had been foiled? Good news, very good news. Now if only they would come and foil this particular plan. Sighing heavily Harry could feel the tendril of sleep tug at his already weary body. Closing his eyes he told himself it would be just for a few moments. He had to be ready to escape if the opportunity arose.

The cell they took him to had been slightly altered in his departure. There were shackles attached to the wall and Harry soon found himself in their clutch, one for each foot with long chains that ran to the wall and one for each wrist which likewise had chains that ran to the wall. He had been given straw on the cold, hard floor and a buck near by was apparently for waste. A small, black bowl was produced by one of this guards and setting it down the wizard filled it to the brim with water. A blanket that had been cut from a potato sack was also among the bits of rotten straw and moist stone floor. Harry, who had been jostled awake by the graceless dumping of his body upon the stone floor, didn't fight the tide of sleep as it pounded against him, carrying far away from the land of the conscious.

_Electric green eyes opened at the sound of water splashing, sitting up the bespectacled boy glanced around and saw that he was no longer in the prison cell, but sitting in a boat surrounded by a vast expanse of water. Clambering onto one of two seats he pulled his frayed black cloak closer to himself and shivered at the cold that seemed to seep into his very bones. Directly in front of him, on the horizon he could see a swirl of green and ships docking at the port. _

_As time went on Harry realized the harbor was drifting farther and farther away until it was only a speck. Glancing behind him he scrambled round on his seat to get a better look. A mighty, black fortress was fifty, maybe more meters away from his small boat, it's towers and flying buttresses evident even from the considerable distance. Like an old crone's fingers, the towers clawed at the sky with malcontent, grasping and greedy spikes. As the distance between them lessened Harry could make out voices on the howling wind which had risen up from nothing. _

_Dark clouds swirled overhead and the air became thick with despair and the threat of rain. Harry felt his scar burn and winced at the memory of his parents rose to the for-front of his mind. The world around him vanished behind the vision and Harry could feel himself falling into his mother's screams. Shades, cloaked with tattered robes rose up to greet him at the blackened shore, scabbed white hands reaching for him. _

_Azkaban…_

With a sudden jerk Harry was awake, shivering violently under the rough material of his blanket. Sweat beaded his brow and his hair lay plastered to his skin; lifting his hand to wipe at his face Harry nearly jumped at how cold his fingers were. Breathing on them offered little if any support so he satisfied himself with curling up even more. Miserable, Harry was even more of an amusement for the death eaters that guarded his cell, each taking terns to taunt him with anything from warmth, food, water, and proper facilities. Harry, with a high fever and a perpetual ache in his bones, let the words stream over him carelessly. On the hour a cloaked figure would come to his door and tell him how many hours of life he had left.

Licking his lips, Harry meditated on everything left behind him at Hogwarts; Ron and Hermione and their incessant presence; warm, endless, and filling meals; Gryffindor tower and all his friends from the DA; heck, Harry even felt a pang of longing for Dumbledore.

Resting his head back on the wall of his prison the boy-who-lived felt something warm and wet slide down his neck and tickle the sensitive flesh of his collar bone and shoulder blades. Lifting a tired hand he wiped at it, frowning as it smeared and brought the hand back to peer closely at a sticky, red substance. Groaning slightly he shifted experimentally and prodded his head to located the origin. Finding a gash near the nape of his neck that had torn open when he had shifted Harry pondered on how he hadn't felt any discomfort. Perhaps he had merely been too cold, he reasoned, suddenly very uneasy. Something was awfully peculiar about this place, the cold for one. It was summer for Merlin's sake, how could it possibly be this cold?

Harry was roused from his thoughts by his door being slammed open and a robed figure stepping in. "Good evening, Potter," said a voice pleasantly,"Lovely evening for a drink- wouldn't you agree?"

"You!" spat Harry, shocked to his core.

He didn't need his glasses to picture lips behind the white mask curving into a smile, "Yes, Potter, _me._"

"But- no! How did you…" Harry's voice trailed away and he swore violently.

"Bring him," said Malfoy Senior in a colder voice to the two black figures guarding his door.

"Ye', sir."

Harry once again found himself spell bound and levitated to the throne room with its cold, unfeeling black stone walls.

"Hello again, Harry," greeting the snake like voice form the front of the room.

"Tom," said Harry pleasantly, the sound betrayed by the curl of his lip.

"_Crucio_."

Harry suffered for almost two whole minutes before the curse was lifted and the smooth voice continued. From his new vantage point on the floor Harry pressed his hands to his scar desperately.

"Now, Harry, I understand that Potionsss wass a difficult classs for you? Well, forgive me but I feel that now would be an opportune moment to go over a rather fine concoction. The Draught of Prometheusss. Do you know what it doess? Hm?" When Harry gave no answer but to glare at the twin red eyes Voldemort continued in that same, nauseatingly cultured voice, "The ssstory goesss, that Prometheus, who was trickssster and very clever, managed to even ssswindle Zeusss. Now Zeus, seeking revenge, had Prometheusss bound to a mountain and every day a bird would come and devour his liver. Being immortal kept Prometheus from dying, and every night he would heal and the next day, the process would ssstart anew. He stayed like that for ssseveral hundred yearsss. Can you imagine? An organ being devoured as you stood, alive, to watch? I find the story fassscinating."

Harry felt sick.

"So, Harry, now can you tell me what the Draught doesss?"

"Eats my liver?"

"Correct. But the fun doesn't stop there, dear Harry, oh no. The potion acts like those primitive muggle acids, eating away at the organs first before attacking the muscles, dissolving the human body from the inside out. Geniusss. And do you know which of our favorite potion masters created thisss beauty?"

Harry didn't feel sick, he _was_ sick. Turning his head away he gave several dry, acidic heaves which splashed blood and stomach acid onto the floor in a small puddle.

"Severusss, I believe I left something about the potion out. Would you care to enlighten our dear Mr. Potter yourself?"

"Of course, my master." Harry made out the blurry form of Snape as he sulked forward slightly, circling him like a buzzard. "The potion, when ingested, first reaches the blood stream and eats away at the magical properties. Literally _burning_ the magic within the body into a blackened crisp." Harry felt rather than saw the sadistic glee in his professor's voice. "The poison continues to the organs, eating away at them, until it reaches the heart…"

"Get away from me you sick bastard!"

Voldemort laughed from his throne, his voice going cold as he said, "Administer the draught, Severusss." Harry sought out the unholy red eyes and almost took a step back from the malicious victory. _You're mine now, Harry. There is no one to save you here…Pity your precious friends didn't see fit to save you. I could have used the entertainment._ Harry tried to shake away the mental link but their proximity was too close and Harry was too weak to fight it off.

He felt himself straddled and immediately clamped his mouth shut. Bone chilling, cold fingers grasped his jaw roughly and squeezed, prying his mouth open. Harry looked up into the unfeeling, black eyes of Snape and jerked his head away.

_Drink up, Harry,_ the sinister voice whispered through the mental link before fading away.

* * *

_Next: Chapter 5 –Forbidden Heaven _

_"Open your mouth, Potter," said the dark voice above him. When he steadfastly kept his lips firmly locked Snape snarled something indecipherable and Harry felt his mouth forced open and something liquid poured between his teeth. Feeling his consciousness begin to slip he let his eyes close and could have sworn he heard a voice mutter, "Sweet Merlin, _no!_" But it was too late and he felt all life abandon him. _

* * *

Reviewers: Hello, my lovelies, thank you so much for reviewing! And those of you who put me on your author alert and favorites are appreciated very much from this quarter! Keep your reviews and support coming!

Glassdragon2: Ah yes, the man in the brown cloak. Are you quite certain he's dead?

Saphirephoenix: Yes, twas Snape.

READ ME: Because of the impending release of HBP, or as I affectionately title it, another "Harry Bloody Potter" book (what? It has the same initials!), I've decided to postpone updating for a week or so to allow for some quality reading time with our favorite soon-to-be sixteen year old wizard. I'll update prompty, swear to Merlin. Then, after I've had my fill of book six and nit picked it apart I'll probably be typing away furiously on a book seven idea. But I shan't abandon my other fics! I swear!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bro. and probably a lot more people than I am aware of. I am not making any profit from this; it is purely for my own amusement.


	5. Forbidden Heaven

_Paradise__ Found_

_Chapter Five_

_Forbidden Heaven _

Harry's eyes became fixed upon his professor's and he felt a slight probing of his mind. '_Get out of my head, Snape! Get out! GET OUT!'_

_'Make me, Potter,' _came the haughty reply.

Harry watched helplessly as countless images from his life flashed through his mind. Finally one image surfaced above all the rest. Harry felt a burning rage coil inside his chest as the image of his godfather's shocked expression flew backwards, enveloped by the still black curtains. '_STOP!'_ But Snape didn't stop, he continued ruthlessly to show Sirius' descent into the veil.

_'Make me, Potter!_ _Look at him, how pathetic he looks. The imbecile didn't know just when to stay home! Watch as the whipped dog is done away with forever. The menace. I certainly shed no tears. But I bet you did, didn't you! Cried like a baby, because you broke your plaything. That's all he was to you, wasn't he, Potter? Just a plaything…a mere. Stuffed. Dog.' _

The coil of rage exploded in Harry's chest and rumbled away from him like ripples of stone and rock. Around him he could hear the chaos erupt as Death Eaters collapsed and Voldemort started a curse. And just as suddenly as the tidal wave of heat and fury had erupted, it had moved away. Opening his eyes, which had squeezed shut when he had been listening to Snape, Harry focused his vision on the crouched figure before him. Feeling a surge of victory, Harry watched as his professor struggled to stand and grasp his forearm. "Hold on, Potter," said Snape, his voice rasping.

The next instant, Harry felt a familiar tug behind his naval and the world around him faded. When they landed, Harry felt his legs collapse underneath him but someone strong and wiry clutched him under his arms and around his chest.

"Open your mouth, Potter," said the dark voice above him. When he steadfastly kept his lips firmly locked, Snape snarled something indecipherable and Harry felt his mouth forced open and something liquid poured between his teeth. Feeling his consciousness begin to slip, he let his eyes close and could have sworn he heard a voice mutter, "Sweet Merlin, _no!_" But it was too late and he felt all life abandon him.

Snape scowled darkly at the unconscious form that sagged against him. Finding his wand, he snapped out a levitation charm and guided the teen through a doorway and into a small, drafty cottage. Shack would probably be a better term as the professor took in its dismal interior. Finding the cot near the far wall, he gently spelled the boy onto its surprisingly sturdy frame. The fireplace was covered with dust and the wood within it looked more likely to crumble at the sight of a match than actually burn. Nevertheless, Severus flicked his wand and watched as a small fire sprang to life to crackle merrily at his grim visage. Rooting around in a nearly collapsed cupboard, Severus found a spare blanket, three bowls, a mug, a glass, a tea cup, and a dead rodent that was halfway decomposed. Disposing of the carcass, he spelled the blanket warm and draped it over Potter's shivering form, muttering about babysitting useless Gryffindors who couldn't stay safe.

Several minutes ticked by slowly before the form on the cot shifted and brought Snape's attention from the window pane to the pale form. "Potter?"

The boy's breath caught and his face turned into a frown. Suddenly, his eyes opened and blinked several times. Snape watched all of this with a bored expression and fought to contain any biting comments to himself as the boy slowly sat up and looked around blearily, squinting against the light from the fire. A yawn overcame him and he scratched at the nape of his neck absently, wincing at something that originated in his chest where he clutched subconsciously.

Frowning in thought, Severus crossed his arms and leaned against the wall behind him, contemplating what could be affecting the brat now. The sound of rustling cloth must've drawn the attention of the teen, because his head snapped up and he glanced warily at Snape's wall.

"Who's there?"

Intrigued on how bad Potter's eyesight really was, he refrained from answering but took three steps forward, away from the wall. Potter apparently could hear better than he could see, because he listened intently to the almost soundless noise his feet made. When he stopped Potter wasn't looking at the wall anymore, instead he was looking at the floor, almost exactly where his shoes were. He hadn't fully stepped away from the shadows and the light from the fire was still several steps away. Taking a few more steps, Severus stopped just within the line of glowing red light and narrowed his eyes as he studied the boy in front of him. Potter seemed to be built of nothing but tension, his eyes looking at him warily.

Neither said anything for a few moments before Snape took a few more steps, coming to a stop within arms length of the cot.

"Professor?" Harry's voice was strained and raspy, causing Snape's frown to deepen, which in turn caused Harry to back up on the cot and shoot him furtive glances.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape's frown vanished beneath a mask of indifference and Harry seemed to relax somewhat.

"Um…What happened?"

"Now is not the time to discuss the fruition of your irresponsible Gryffindor behavior and the lengths that others had to go to save your selfish hide."

Harry sat against the wall his cot was shoved up against and absorbed this in annoyance. "Where are we now?"

"A safe house." Snape was not liking the rasping noise that Potter made when he spoke.

"And…?" When no response was forthcoming Harry tried again," Where is that?"

"Where we are; are you in pain?"

Frustrated at the evasion of his question, Harry did a quick analysis of his physical condition and nodded slightly.

When he got no further response, Snape gave an exaggerated sigh, "Well, where!"

Jumping slightly, Harry cleared his throat. "Er…well, everywhere, um, sir."

Heaving another sigh and muttering something about avoiding Albus' wrath, Snape dug around in his robes for a few moments before pulling out several vials and miniature glass bottles. Snape set the vials and bottles on a table that had been placed in the center of the room; Harry watched as the older man lined them up and seemed to come to a conflict within himself. Picking up two vials and one of the glass bottles, he returned to Harry and gave him the bottle first and told him to swallow half.

Harry took the bottle and turned it around in his fingers and gave his Potions Master a serious look. "You're kidding, right?"

"Potter, you will drink what I give you; whether it is of your own volition or not is up to you."

"What is it?" Snape seemed to barely be able to restrain from doing something violent.

"It is a mild calming draught to help you rest as I see to your injuries." Despite the contents of what he had to say Snape's eyes and the set of his jaw spoke murder if Harry didn't shut up and drink it.

Harry's eyes widened fractionally. "Oh. Um, okay then." Downing half the potion, Harry felt his limbs go numb and a floating sensation travel throughout his body. Snape appeared to be satisfied and with a wave of his wand, the torn, dirty piece of cloth which acted as a shirt vanished.

Through his drug induced haze, Harry summoned enough energy to protest. "Calm yourself, Potter, I'm merely assessing the extent of your injuries."

Snape's frigid pale hands poked and prodded at Harry's cuts, bruises, and injuries methodically and the occasional thoughtful noise was interrupted only by Harry's weary objections. Finally Snape finished poking him; Harry was sure he did it harder than was strictly necessary, and stepped back a bit. "This is beyond my expertise; we must get you to a Healer." Summoning his cloak from a peg on the wall, Snape wrapped the dark, wool material around Harry's shoulders and muttered a light cleaning charm. "Sleep," he commanded and Harry didn't argue.

When he woke up the next morning, Harry got a better look around him in the light streaming from a window on the opposite wall. Golden yellow light highlighted the floor and single table. Yawning, Harry sat up stiffly and felt the blanket around him bare a shoulder. Surprised, he remembered when Snape had spelled his shirt away and then later charmed him devoid of the grime which had covered him from head to toe. His skin felt incredibly dry as a result but he preferred it to the filthy feeling which he was sure would never completely leave him unless he bathed for a few days straight. Still feeling sleepy, Harry rubbed his eyes and face roughly and blinked several times. The motion sent pain shooting through his arms and slight tremors made his arms and hands almost uncontrollable. Looking around the room blankly for a moment, he started violently when he noticed a black figure sitting on a chair at the foot of his bed.

Not receiving any sarcastic comments for several long moments, Harry gradually noticed the figure's shoulders were slightly slumped, a dark curtain of hair falling forward as the chin rested slightly on his chest. Deep, methodic breathing broke the silence and Harry watched fascinated at his professor doing something so human. The peaceful morning silence was suddenly shattered by a loud crack. Like a puppet Snape was jerked awake and on his feet before Harry had even had time to recognize the sound of someone Apparating.

Harry watched as Snape motioned for silence and stalked toward the door, peering through what must've been some sort of hole or crack. All seemed to be in order because Snape opened the door and silently ushered whoever was outside in.

"He needs a Healer," said Snape tersely. Harry couldn't see his face but imagined he had a fixed look of annoyance on it.

The figure that had entered, though fuzzy, was brown and slightly shorter than Snape. "Well, I should think so, can he be Joint Apparated?" a man's voice asked, the sound familiar to Harry's ears.

"I would not risk it; he's undergone several very dark curses which could be antagonized by the force of the movement. Did Albus send a Portkey with you?" Harry marveled at how Snape could fit so much malice and irritation into each word.

Though a moment later he blanched at the thought of a Portkey, mentally picturing his stomach finding its way on the ground where they landed. But thankfully the brown man answered negatively, "I don't think that would be a wise idea, Portkey would be even worse for him." The man's next suggestion didn't sound very promising either, though, "Floo?"

"No powder, and the network will most likely be watched," Snape said in his most condescending tone.

"Then we have no other alternative than Joint Apparition," the stranger concluded. Harry could just picture the scowl on Snape's face as he gave affirmation. "Very well, you take him then. I need to speak with Albus immediately."

"He'll be at Headquarters, he's opening a window for us to Apparate in."

"Why didn't you say this before?" Snape demanded. "When does the window open? When will it close? Fool, we could have missed it!"

The man didn't flinch from Snape's tone and instead responded, "Relax, Severus, the window opens in ten minutes, I was merely seeing if we had any other options before we risked his life through such drastic measures. Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

Startled at being addressed, Harry dumbly nodded his head, squinting his eyes at the both of them. "Do I know you?"

"Ah, I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced." The brown figure paced forward and stretched out his arm. "I'm Zacharias Harper, I'll be your new professor this year."

"Oh." Well, that explains why Snape hates him so much.

"Such an eloquent Gryffindor," said Snape snidely, moving around the room. Occasionally Harry could hear the clink of bottles moving together.

Soon enough Snape had his potions gathered and was satisfied the room was in order. Harry was spelled feather-light and charmed to keep completely still, but he wasn't aware what had happened until he was in Snape's arms and carried out into the sunlight.

"Put me down!" he demanded, but nobody was listening.

"On three then. Potter, try not to move. One. Two. Three."

Harry felt as if someone had dumped ice cold water on him and repetitively stabbed every nerve with icicles. A moment later he felt disoriented as he focused once again on colours.

A 'pop' came from next to them and Harry saw Zacharias Harper appear in the shape of a blurry brown fuzzy rectangle. "Once again, Potter, on the count of three. One. Two. Three." Harry ended up having to go through the process twice more before Snape started walking swiftly through an empty street. At one point in time Harry must've fallen asleep because the next time he became conscious was to the sound of his professor's voice griping about having a sleeping and most likely _drooling_ brat in his arms. Only when Harry squinted his eyes and recognized headquarters did he realize that it was Snape's way of waking him up before they actually went inside.

_Creepy git._

Harper went in and held the door open for an irate Snape, who quickly relinquished his hold on Potter to a dusty grey couch in one of many rooms that resided near the entrance.

With his head against the arm rest Harry felt rather than heard his professor cancel the spells on him and leave the room. He quickly lost consciousness after that.

* * *

_Next: Chapter 6 –This Devil's Game _

_"It would be considerable." A miniscule pause,"But worth it." Severus' eyes glinted as he said it, his curtain of hair framing his face in the dim candle light. _

_"Worth what?"__ Albus asked calmly, watching from behind his half-moon spectacles. _

_Severus' face morphed and grew colder. "You know what." Albus sighed and rooted around in his robes for a sweet. Popping a sherbet lemon in his mouth he sighed again, hoping it might somehow change the entire situation._

* * *

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bro. and probably a lot more people than I am aware of. I am not making any profit from this; it is purely for my own amusement. 

Special thanks to my talented and overall spiffing beta reader, Lilpadfoot17!

Reviewers: Suzuki-chan, SaphirePhoenix, Lil Padfoot17, glassdragon2

Thanks to the people of _Potions and Snitches_ and _good harry stories_ for adding the fic to their C2 archives.


	6. This Devil's Game

_Paradise__ Found_

_Chapter Six_

_This Devil's Game_

In London there is a street that seldom people will look at twice and say, "My, that's a shady sort of area, best not go there after dark!" Like Privet Drive and Wisteria Walk the streets are clean and many of the women like to get together at different times of the day to discuss the latest developments in each others' lives. Unlike Privet Drive, however, the houses are of various colours and sizes, almost no two are the same. Some are two stories while others are not, and all have a patch of grass and stretch of driveway in various conditions. There is, however, one curious thing about this road; a large plot of ground between two houses remains desolate and empty. For how long the plot of land has remained empty, no one can seem to remember, nor can anyone remember at any one time someone wanting to buy the plot, or even if a house had been demolished upon it. No one knew if the plot was purchased and those few who came by the neighbourhood to look at the plot found themselves violently opposed to the idea or curiously uninterested, several often found themselves remembering previous engagements and never seen again.

However, there were those who knew that the conspicuous, sometimes inconspicuous, plot of land was more than it seemed. At precisely forty seven minutes after three o'clock in the morning, everything went dark for a moment and when the street lamps re-ignited there stood a man, very old in appearance, and wearing a long black travelling cloak. Nothing around him was disturbed and looking about for a moment, satisfied, he continued up the walk, through the undetectable wards and a door beyond that. The street behind him and all its sleeping occupants were left blissfully unaware.

And yet as he shut the door behind him, thunder growled ominously.

"Albus, we weren't expecting you. Come in," Remus Lupin's initial surprise was easily covered and he retreated back into the kitchen. "Tea?"

"No, thank you, is Severus in?"

Remus nodded. "In his room last I checked, would you like me to fetch him?"

Albus shook his head, his silver beard swaying. "I think not, thank you, Remus."

It took him a few minutes to find the right room on the third floor but finding it all the same, Albus paused for a few minutes before knocking. "Enter," snapped a voice within, a loose floorboard creaking as someone crossed the room.

Opening the door and closing it behind him, Albus watched as Severus turned to acknowledge whoever had come in and nodded his head once before sitting in one of two chairs by the empty fire grate. The room was sparse, only a few staples such as the two chairs, singular bed shoved against the far wall, and dusty armoire. "Good evening, Severus." Taking the unoccupied seat, the silver haired Headmaster studied the dark young man before him. Severus Snape had served him well for several years. He had proven himself loyal on several occasions and had sworn himself to Light for years. Now, only to waste away within Headquarters and Hogwarts. Belatedly, Albus wondered if his regret had more to do with his lost spy than Severus' life.

"Was there a reason for your presence, Headmaster?" Snape asked coldly, unseeing black eyes boring into the bare hearth.

_Headmaster_. That hurt. Deciding it would probably go best if he retained the professional mantel, Albus didn't answer but instead rifled through his pockets absentmindedly. "Lemon drop?"

Snape snarled, his fists clenched white and his jaw twitching.

"Do you have your report prepared?" he hedged, but the man just snorted and gave a noise of confirmation.

Severus stood and withdrew a large stone basin from a cabinet he hadn't noticed before by the bed. The tall man set it on the small table between them and leaned back in his chair again. Taking hold of the Pensieve he brought it closer to his long, crooked nose and dipped his face in. The memories swirled around him in a fine mist, changing and altering. When he was finished reviewing the events of Mr. Potter's capture, the Headmaster leaned back thoughtfully.

"I trust you took him to the safe house we had agreed upon?" he asked, to which Severus nodded curtly, a glass of wine in his hand now. The bottle was next to the Pensieve with another glass but the Headmaster didn't take it. Before he could say anything Severus began talking.

"There is a way to rectify the damage done by the…recovery of your 'chosen one'. If we can persuade the Dark Lord to believe you tricked me into taking a Portkeyed vial, to ensure that if I ever tried to give anything less than savoury to the brat, you would then catch me red handed in the act. Of course, then we would have to have another tale of how I kept a small amount of your trust though not enough to garner much more valuable information for a while. It would keep me in the Dark Lord's good graces a little longer and give us an excuse not to come up with something for a few months."

"The risk?" Albus ran his gnarled fingers through his beard and looked out the window over his colleague's oily head. Severus made a noise in the back of his throat and when Albus turned to look at him, his pallid face had lost even more colour. "Severus?"

"It would be considerable." A miniscule pause. "But worth it." Severus' eyes glinted as he said it, his curtain of hair framing his face in the dim candle light.

"Worth what?" asked Albus calmly, watching from behind his half-moon spectacles.

Severus' face morphed and grew colder. "You _know_ what." Albus sighed and rooted around in his robes for a sweet. Popping a sherbet lemon in his mouth he sighed again, hoping it might somehow change the entire situation.

"Yes, Severus, I know what. But do you? You are so hell bent to prove yourself, to gain your redemption, to do Merlin knows what for…who, for _what_? Why, Severus? Why risk your life, your very soul in this Devil's Game if what you seek has already been given to you? You have proven yourself." Severus opened his mouth to protest but Albus rushed on. "Beyond whatever call I have held you to. You've gained your redemption; you've saved lives and sacrificed everything. Why continue to torture yourself?" Severus took a long sip from his glass; he had no answer. "I will not allow you to continue this foolish quest to bring yourself to ruin. Suicide missions will not bring you what you're looking for."

"Then what will?" Severus asked with something like despair in his quiet voice. "_What_, old man?"

"Love." Severus made a noise halfway between a choke and a snort. His face changed again to mirror disgust.

"Love," he mocked quietly. "What a pretty little lie. No doubt it works to tuck in foolish young Gryffindors but I'm hardly one of your precious little lions now, am I?" Severus' dark eyes were rich with some ugly dark humour.

"You sound as if you consider yourself a plague to me." Severus didn't say anything except to swirl the dark red liquid in his glass for a moment and glare at the hearth. "I can assure you, you are most certainly not."

"How kind of you to say so." Dark eyes glittered in the candle lit room.

Albus capitulated, there was no speaking with the Potions master when he had himself worked into one of his moods.

"And how is Mr. Potter?"

Severus swung his face toward the Headmaster with a dangerous look. "And just how am I supposed to know?"

Albus gave a shrug. "With only four people in the house I'd suspect you might've heard something."

"Ah, but you forget, Albus, unlike Harper and Lupin, I do not spend my time troubling myself over the welfare of the world's littlest saviour." Severus' voice continued in a low hiss. "Find yourself a Mediwitch or wizard if you'd really like to know, send him off to St. Mungo's for all I care. But _don't ever_ presume to think I'd care one whit for that thoughtless, tactless, inconsiderate twit!" Albus wondered idly if the glass would shatter in Severus' grip but it didn't and in one long swig the rest of the liquid within it was gone.

"Well, I can see talking to you in this state is hardly going to prove fruitful or constructive, though it may improve my vocabulary a great deal. Good night, Severus. I strongly suggest you resist his summons tonight. I'll see you again tomorrow; when you are a little more suitable for civilized conversation."

Working his way down the stairs Albus heard the knocker at the front door and opened it to a very irritable Poppy Pomfrey. "Well, where is he?" the small woman demanded, pushing her way in, a Mediwitch bag in her hand.

Remus had come out of a room farther down the hall at the noise of Mrs. Black's muffled screeching. "He's in here, Poppy."

Both wizard and witch followed Remus to a dusty, ugly coloured couch where Harry's nest of black hair poked defiantly from under a blanket. Setting her bag down and retrieving a dictation quill and piece of parchment Poppy immediately began casting various spells over his still form and muttering things under her breath. The quill dutifully kept pace with each diagnosis, explanation, recommendation, and other nonsense that Albus and Remus knew absolutely nothing about. Every once in a while she would pause to dig in her bag for a potion or some other instrument that she would administer or set up next to the couch. Other times she would stop and shake her head, frowning deeply at something before making a personal note of it on her paper which seemed to lengthen as she needed it to.

To the werewolf it seemed to never end; for hours they stood and watched her, a veritable flurry of activity. Eventually though, it did stop and she began packing things away and looking over her notes on the parchment carefully. "How is he, Poppy?"

The Mediwitch glanced up from her notes to answer Remus directly. "Mr. Potter is suffering mild nerve strain caused by the two Apparitions, after affects of three different dark curses, malnutrition, dehydration, and magical exhaustion brought on by that burst of untamed magic." She scanned the parchment again, tapping the feather quill against her chin. "Someone appears to have tried the Permanent Sight Stealing curse but something went wrong so his vision may have to be checked more extensively when he wakes up."

"And when will that be, Poppy?" asked Albus in a concerned tone, he was still standing by the doorway and was giving the unconscious teen a deep look.

"In a few hours; I take it Zacharias gave him the Draught of Peace?" Remus couldn't answer though and the Mediwitch frowned. "Well, there are still traces of the potion in his system along with an extra dose of fluxweed and ginger." Madame Pomfrey gave the parchment a considering glance." I'm just glad someone was quick enough to realise with the combination of spells in his system already, any other calming draught would have done more damage than good. Mr. Potter is a very lucky young man. Now, for a few days he'll be in a very delicate state, and I would suggest-"

"'M nah d'licate," slurred a voice from the couch, causing the three adults to look down at him in surprise.

"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Madame Pomfrey. "You shouldn't be waking for several hours at least! You need your rest, your body is very frail at this time and-"

"I'm not delicate, and I'm not frail!" insisted Harry, pushing himself upright. Madam Pomfrey huffed and came forward to apply various comfort charms, conjure a blanket and pillows, and spell him to the couch so he couldn't fall off. With a full, gusty sigh Harry gave the Mediwitch a glare though narrowed eyes. Looking around the room he squinted his eyes at Remus and otherwise swept his gaze blankly over Albus without stopping.

Remus stepped closer in concern, "Harry, can you see me?"

"Remus? You're really fuzzy," he squinted around the room. "Where are my glasses?" A moment later it came to him. "Oh, yeah. Damned bleeding Avery."

"Language, Harry," chastised Remus from his position at the end of the couch. Harry gave him an annoyed look but didn't argue.

Madame Pomfrey was watching as the quill scratched out several things on the lengthening parchment again. She came forward, though, as Harry asked who else was in the room and waved her wand before his eyes a few times. She tried various spells and charms, the quill writing furiously as she muttered an on going monologue under her breath.

"His vision appears to have degenerated as a result of the magical backlash fighting the botched curse…How does the light appear, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's eyes focused on the light emanating from her wand and described it as yellow, large, and…flashy. Albus saw a white, small, steady beam and frowned as Madame Pomfrey gnawed at her bottom lip, something she rarely did, before consulting her parchment once again. "Well," she sighed. "I'd give it a few days, allow his ribs and collarbone to mend. Then we'll test him again and see if his vision worsens, he may just need new glasses." She pulled out an unfamiliar bottle from her medic bag and carefully measured out the amount into a small jar. Instead of giving it to him, though, she rummaged threw her bag until she withdrew a leather pouch that smelled strongly of peppermint and coffee. Pulling out three dark leaves she pursued a mortar and pestle to grind them into a fine powder. Mixing in a healthy amount of potion she wrapped it in some gauze before tying it off with a muttered spell. Placing it on Harry's left eye she stepped back to observe her work. "Meanwhile, a simple poultice ought to do him good." Within moments she had another made up and was showing Remus how and when to apply it to Harry's eyes every few hours.

Madame Pomfrey left soon enough with a promise to return within the next few days for a check up and strict instructions to _rest_! Remus was about to announce Albus' presence when a quick look advised him to stop. Puzzled, the wizard nodded his head before telling Harry that he could rest up on the couch and move to his room when he woke again later, when he was strong enough for the walk. Harry nodded his head sleepily, replaced the twin wrappings, and let his head fall back on the soft pillow. "G'nigh', Professor."

"Remus," the wizard corrected.

"Right, um, Remus. Good night."

"Good night, Harry." Leaving the drawing room door open, Remus followed the Headmaster to the dismal coloured kitchen and again offered the aged wizard some tea. Albus nodded and took a seat at the table.

"And how have you been, Remus?" The werewolf made a movement with his shoulders, a dry smile aimed toward the tea pot he was stooping over.

The smile turned into a frown after a moment and, after pouring two cups, he turned around with a curious expression. "Albus, is it true then? Severus can no longer act as our primary spy?"

Albus took a sip of tea and added three more lumps of sugar to the two he had already mixed in. "It is true."

Remus nodded silently, taking a sip of his own tea. "What will happen now?"

The Headmaster shook his head slowly, staring into his tea. "I'm not sure anymore, Remus. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever was…I think, perhaps, my mistakes have numbered more than I had originally suspected. The wounds leave scars, Remus." Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to be completely aware of his surroundings and Remus shifted uncomfortably under the piercing blue gaze. "But the memories run deeper…they change things. Unexpected and…no amount of careful planning and watching can save them." Remus quirked a brow, _them?_ "They say age brings wisdom, but it only brings the realization that perfection is unattainable. Life must be sacrificed. Mistakes always come back to haunt you. Perhaps I've lived too long, Remus." While saddened blue eyes gazed down at the table, silver-streaked brown hair swayed as the head attached shot up in alarm.

"Albus?"

Silver hair shifted as the bent head looked up with benign, smiling eyes, the shadow receding into their secret depths. "Would you look at that, Remus, this beard really is much too long. It's gotten into my tea."

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_Next: Chapter 7 –Gilded Cage_

_"Upon reflection, it really was the most perfectly gilded cage ever created. And it was all for him. Harry had his friends, his laughs, the closest thing he could possibly have to a family and to all appearances he had everything he could want. All, it seemed, except for his freedom."_

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything to do with him belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bro. and probably a lot more people than I am aware of. I am not making any profit from this; it is purely for my own amusement. 

Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader Lilpadfoot17!

Reviewers: glassdragon2, SaphirePhoenix , Lanfear1, purplepaper, eyeinthesky, kathy, andSuzuki-Chan

Also, thanks to the people of _Anything that's HP_, _Dreams of Living Nightmares_, _HP Severitus & Snarry Fan Fic_, _My favorite,_ _Main Character Snape, Harry, time travel_, and _my Fiction Stories_ for adding the fic to their C2 archives!

**Snape and Harry's Wild Magic:**

Checking over the next few chapters that I've got outlined, I realise that I never explain why or how Snape knew to make Harry so very angry as to elicit such a response. _SaphirePhoenix_ asked in their review so here it goes. Back in book three, when Harry blew up the unforgettable and lovely Aunt Marge, it isn't likely that it would have remained a secret for long. I figured Dumbledore would have saved the information for a time when it might come in handy. Armed with the information that riling up Harry and the fact that Snape may be his only chance of being rescued, with a year's worth of "Remedial" lessons gone sour under both their belts. In a chapter that I decided was rather pointless, Snape and Dumbledore trade ideas on how to rescue the Gryffindor Golden Boy. If the original plan meets a road block Snape was to do anything he could to make Harry lose his temper and, consequently, his control. The most obvious way to get to Harry is obviously by slandering what is closest to him. His parents, his friends, and his God father. And on that note.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


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